


Milestones

by Viridian5



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Birthday, Drama, Humor, M/M, Post-Series, Slice of Life, getting older
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The big birthdays can lead to reflection and light sadism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milestones

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers really, but this is post- _Glühen_.
> 
> This fic started as my attempt at filling a [Weiss Kreuzmas](http://weiss-kreuzmas.livejournal.com/) [bonus round prompt](http://weiss-kreuzmas.livejournal.com/29522.html) from Crescentium, but _as_ I wrote it I saw it wouldn’t work as the prompt. *g* Sorry!

Crawford foresaw it only seconds before the singing waitstaff started walking towards them loudly singing “Happy Birthday.” The piece of cake one waitress carried nearly blazed with lit candles. A lot of the other patrons began to sing along. Too late to escape. “You _ass_ ,” Crawford muttered.

Across the table from him Schuldig snickered unrepentantly. “I’m glad they found a compromise. If they had to put 40 candles on anything they could’ve burned the place down.”

Schuldig couldn’t baffle Crawford’s precognition with any actions that involved planning and a setup, but on smaller things Schuldig could fool him by vacillating on making a decision until the last minute. Crawford didn’t appreciate the irony of Schuldig acting flightier in reaction to his ability.

~ It’s not good to call this much attention to ourselves, ~ Crawford said over their mindlink. 

~ Nobody’s currently hunting us... unless you’re holding out on me again, in which case you deserve some pain, ~ Schuldig answered. ~ I’ll make sure nobody’s gonna remember any details about us aside from how you were embarrassed and _blushing_. Shit, I am so glad we were in the US for this because they have public birthday humiliation _down_. ~

The group set the piece of cake down in front of Crawford and loudly made sure to mention in their singing that it was a 40th birthday. Schuldig made it worse by taking photos of him in this situation with his smartphone. Considering all the trouble the telepath got up to with that thing Crawford would’ve broken it if they hadn’t realized that playing Angry Birds could get Schuldig past some telepathic bumps with less pain and no medication, though Angry Birds seemed to be even more addictive than the pills.

Sometimes Crawford wished they’d discovered that some video games could do this for Schuldig earlier, but Nagi probably would have injured Schuldig for monopolizing his game system. 

Everyone in the dining room yelled that Crawford should make a wish, so he said to Schuldig, “I hope you choke,” before blowing out the candles with one mighty breath.

Grinning, Schuldig answered, “Fortunately, they don’t come true if you tell someone.”

Crawford couldn’t help making a silent wish that might even come true. “You’re not _that_ much younger than me. I’ll get you back for this.” At least the waitstaff left them alone now.

“It wouldn’t be interesting if you didn’t try. It’s too bad for you that I have no sense of shame.” 

Too bad Schuldig was right.

Schuldig rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so bent out of shape. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Assuming I can get it up after this ridiculous scene. You may have to work harder than usual.”

“You’re not _that_ old. Though it wouldn’t hurt you to remind me of that tonight.”

  


* * *

After they hung their bloody coats in the bathroom, Schuldig dropped backward onto the couch, looking at least as exhausted as Crawford felt. “My fucking knees,” Schuldig muttered. “I should have made that imbecile hurt more before I killed him for it. _Don’t_ say it. I know you have your aches too.”

Crawford’s lower back was killing him--and just from age, not being hit there--but he had too much dignity to admit it. His telepath knew about it anyway. Instead Crawford went to their small kitchen, cut a piece of lemon cake, stuck and lit eight candles in it, and brought it over to the couch. “Now _you’re_ over the hill. Happy 40th. I couldn’t find a dining room full of tormentors on short notice.”

Schuldig looked at the cake then at Crawford then at the cake then at Crawford. “No.”

“Yes. Think of the date.”

“How the hell do you remember my birthday when I don’t?”

“I’m better than you, and I kept this little impromptu thing from you behind thick shields. We can also blame Rosenkreuz.”

“Pft. Well, that sucks. Are you _still_ sore over your public birthday celebration? That was five years ago!”

“I have a long memory.”

“Of course you do. You gotta learn to let some things go, for your health’s sake.” Schuldig took the plate, blew out his candles, and had a forkful of cake. “Mmm, lemon. I guess your long memory is good for _some_ things.” 

“Did you wish for anything?”

“I’m not telling it. You know, I’m kind of surprised I made it to my 40s.”

“You calmed down a bit in your 30s. I’m amazed you survived your 20s, when you were reckless, self-involved, and recklessly self-involved.”

Schuldig stuck his tongue out at him then asked, “Why eight candles?”

“For every silver hair you have.”

“If I hadn’t already blown them out, I would’ve used them to set your hair on fire,” Schuldig answered, maybe half-jokingly.

“You like my hair. You said it gives you something to grip.”

“Don’t go using logic on me.”

“You could just dye them.” Not that Crawford minded the silver strands; Schuldig somehow looked good with them. Altogether, the telepath was aging far more gracefully than anyone would have expected, given his past lifestyle and how draining his talent could be.

“That’d be admitting defeat. I’ll see how I feel when more of them show up. At least they’re silver instead of gray. You’re not having cake?”

“It’s 4 a.m.”

“ _I’m_ having cake at 4 a.m. If it keeps me from sleeping you won’t be getting much sleep either.”

Too true. “Fine.”

“Get me a sparkling water while you’re in there! Don’t give me that look, it’s my birthday. We can take a shower together after the cake.” 

Crawford took a smaller piece, and they sat together eating their cake in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Schuldig said, “I love getting out there and killing people myself, but there’s no way I’m gonna be doing it on damp winter nights like this when I’m 50.”

“I’m tempted to say that’s weak of you but I can’t because I actually think it’s smart.” Together and separately they already had more than enough money to retire and live in style for a few _decades_ but couldn’t give up the adrenaline rush and mental challenge of the work. They’d get bored. But that didn’t make them masochists.

At some points Crawford had considered trying to get a wife and then children but he didn’t want to give up his profession and have to bother lying about it. Besides, he’d liked the idea of them, the thought of being able to say he had them, better than what the reality would probably be.

As for his relationship with Schuldig, it helped that the telepath had spent years as his subordinate first, especially given Schuldig’s willful nature. A wife with children couldn’t share his life the way Schuldig could. 

“Yeah. Work smarter, not harder. I think Scrooge McDuck once said that.”

“If you say so.” 

“If I’m 40, _you’re_ overdue for a midlife crisis. You’ve already had a sports car for decades, but if you try to replace me with a younger model before I’m ready to go I’ll make you both suffer. Of course, if you foresee all that first you’ll _know_ what trading in will get you and think better of it.”

“Is there a possibility of you getting bored with me? Even after I’ve served you lemon cake?”

Schuldig smirked. “Just remember never to take me for granted. That way we’ll still be celebrating the next major birthdays together.”

“You think you’ll make it to 50?”

“I don’t know if my knees will make it to 50, but it’s starting to look possible that the rest of me will, which is weird since neither of us knew if we’d survive our 20s. I’m in the unexpected position of thinking about how long I _wanna_ live. If I’m a withered prune, stooped in half, pissing myself, or in a permanent brain fog I’d rather be dead. I saw a telepath in his 50s at Rosenkreuz and it was a massive ‘hell no’ for me because he was all four. I think they only kept him alive as a specimen to scare the kids.”

“You saw _one_ telepath.”

“With the way telepaths strain their brains and nervous systems the odds are good that my memory, concentration, and thinking won’t be pretty later in life. My brain probably looks like Farfarello’s... everything. Not that it’s fun to bring up, but it’s a bit like how a lot of precogs go blind when they get older.”

“Thank you for that cheerful thought.” His eyesight had been declining faster in the last few years.

“I’m just saying.” 

“Is this your way of asking me to kill you if you turn ugly, smelly, or get dementia?”

“I’m not sure I want to give you an excuse.” Schuldig laughed. “At least you’re not like Farfarello, who might have decided to stab me to death because he thought he saw me getting crow’s feet.”

They hadn’t seen Farfarello in over 15 years, but Schuldig still mentioned him at times. They occasionally saw Nagi, most often when they were working in Japan. Although he rarely admitted it, Schuldig still seemed to miss them, but it could be a telepath thing, since the two of them had been part of Schwarz’s mental link--and thus Schuldig himself--for years.

“You might even make it to 60,” Crawford said.

“Yeah, but then I’d want minions to do most of the harder, dirty work and then hold down targets for me to strike the final killing blow.”

“You could just use telepathy to do a lot of that.”

“Telepathy isn’t as glamorous as using minions, pretty young men willing to kill at my command....” 

“No wonder you don’t want to be ugly in your old age.”

“I’m also very vain, but I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

Truthfully, Crawford often thought Schuldig wouldn’t survive to reach that age, suspecting that he would burn out from his telepathy, which grew stronger as he aged, or die on a job. Would he even still _be_ Schuldig if slowed and dulled by age? Schuldig might prefer being murdered to a slow, inexorable physical and probably mental decline. 

_He_ didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with a diminished version of Schuldig.

Crawford kept those thoughts behind strong, thick mental shields in case it turned out Schuldig _wouldn’t_ prefer it. Besides, it was morbid and something Crawford didn’t like to think about.

“I’ll have to start thinking about what I’m going to do for your 50th,” Schuldig said as he set his empty plate down and sat on Crawford’s lap. “It’s only five years away.”

“Why bother when you won’t make a decision on any of it until right before you do it?” 

“That’s your own fault for being a seer.” Schuldig smirked. “You know, when we were in Rosenkreuz I used to hate it that you were older than me, but now it’s a great comfort.”

In a way, it was comforting to Crawford too.

 

### End


End file.
